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Gimpy blogger

I'm currently suffering from a mild neck issue. My chiropractor told me
the name (after she fixed the problem), but I've already forgotten it.
As far I can tell, it's like two discs at the nape of my neck got into a
lock-down fight and annoyed all their neighbours. She also told me that it's one of those things that could happen to anyone - in fact, it happened to her just last week. So no guilt for failing to mention that head-banging incident. It was the guitar solo in "Bohemian Rhapsody". According to Wayne's World, head-banging is practically required. No guilt whatsoever.

In the last two weeks, there have been three adjustments, lots of icepacks, more robax
than I care to admit, and very little of the normal duties. Some are a
little heartrending (ex. no picking up the toddler), others relieving
(no dishes - yay!), but what's been most baffling is that all the
sedentary activities I associate with "taking it easy" all make it
worse. There has been very little smartphone time or computer time, and
as much as I'd love to curl up on a soft chair with a hardcover novel,
even getting into position is a problem. I can't help but appreciate the irony of my hurts-to-read dilemma coming on the heels of finishing The Information Diet. It's akin to coming down with a nasty case of heartburn just after thinking about cutting back on Indian food. The theoretical quickly becomes practical when every bite brings the promise of fire. The question is less 'is this samosa worth the calories?' than 'is it worth the pain?" And so I must ask about every article, as I convalesce, and every comment stream. And by 'must', sadly, I mean 'should' - let's just say it's a good thing I don't suffer from heartburn and an obsessive love of curry. Mmmm butter chicken. But I digress.I let my held hardcover copy of A Dance with Dragons go back on the library shelf, unread. Good. I perused through a month's worth of memes on the Facebook page Time to thin the herd. Not so good. I pulled out my Bible for the first time in weeks months. Very good. I read through all of the Blogess posts surrounding the difficulty in getting a picture of Nathan Fillion holding twine for, you know, context. Very funny, but did I really need to do it in one big binge? No. While hunched over my phone in the chair I should probably be avoiding? Definitely not. Is my impulse control wont to note the difference between authentic coconut curry and cumin dusted twinkies? Not always.

Maybe I should make a chart where I compare acquired neck pain to the relative worth of my literary munchies. Though measuring written materials in terms of Indian cuisine would soon prove difficult, it would have the delicious side benefit of required tastings to make sure my choice dishes are accurate. What is the culinary equivalent to the book of Baruch anyways? I'm going with palak paneer, but I'd need to order it again to make sure. On second thought, this could be bad for our eating-out budget. Excuse me while I order some naan.On a side note, I wasn't just head-banging to Queen, I was head-banging to Rajaton doing Queen. Which is even better. And I didn't just link to "Bohemian Rhapsody" either, because the only thing that adds to the equation of Queen plus Rajaton is David Bowie. Once you wrap your head around the fact that all these sounds are being made with people's mouths (with occasional help from Mr. Reverb and friends), the fabulous lyrics of "Under Pressure" really shine through.

Enjoy. Or, alternatively, don't - because your attention is precious, and not every one thinks Freddy Mercury is worth the informational calories. Stepping away from the neck wrenching machine now, honest.Happy Wednesday

According to the classical method of pigeon-holing personalities, I am a phlegmatic melancholic, which is Latin for "thinks way too much about things to fill out 'about me' sections briefly or succinctly". Consider yourself warned. I am happily married to the man of my shopping list (far better choice than the two-dimensional Prince Charming of my dreams), and the mother of a pensive princess, a mischievous munchkin, and one chill but cheery babe. Caring for the above currently takes up most of my time, but I hope someday to train as a midwife. I am an Orthodox Christian, and my husband is a sub-deacon, so I suppose that makes me a sub-matushka (to abuse the Slavic term). I am addicted to coffee and fiction. I love to sing. My weaknesses in writing include alliteration and parentheses (surely you suspected). My love of chocolate is genetic, and the cravings can usually be quelled by heart-healthy high-quality dark decadence, but I still occasionally slum with a snickers. My blog is my happy place, a spot for sharing blessings, and writing for the sheer joy of putting words on a screen.